Tag Archives: super

Notes from the news: Germany’s green energy revolution, Super Injunction Twitter row and Health Reform debate


Amongst the scandalous stories of super injunctions, celebrity gossip ruling the internet and ideological feuds in Parliament, genuinely groundbreaking news from Germany that could have global implications is hiding. Angela Merkel, the Christian Democrat Chancellor, has taken the decision in the wake of Japan’s nuclear crisis at Fukishima caused by a devastating earthquake, to phase out Germany’s substantial nuclear programme. The speed and scale of her plans are unprecedented anywhere in the world, according to an article from The Guardian.

Merkel is far from a progressive or left leaning politician. She is also a realist not an idealist. This makes the news even more momentous and significant, for if Europe’s largest economy takes such action others will follow. The Guardian say that it seems the rationalist in Merkel has decided to take drastic measures to avoid an equally unexpected event as the Japanese Tsunami, bringing Germany to its knees and causing a catastrophic safety hazard.

Merkel is targetting green energy as a huge area for future economic growth. She will be putting her country at the forefront of development, making it a world leader, as President Obama’s positive rhetoric remains just that because of moves by Republicans to block carbon emission caps. The Japanese may also reconsider their decision to continue with nuclear power if other nations are adopting safer, more environmentally friendly alternatives.

Other countries may feel compelled to up their own efforts so they don’t miss out on market share. Green jobs have the benefit of being completely sustainable. An abundance of endless energy could lead to ambitious projects in terms of transport and infrastructure. Clean energy would generally lead to higher standards of living. I’ve long argued that if governments take up the challenge of climate change and replacing fossil fuels there are exciting and inspiring opportunities.

In terms of the domestic impact here in the UK of Merkel’s decision, it may encourage Liberal Democrats, who have long ruled out nuclear energy in their manifestos. Given the divisions now in the coalition following a heated election and referendum campaign, Lib Dems might push for increased direct government funding for offshore wind farms. Merkel recently opened Germany’s first sizeable offshore wind facility and her plans put it at the heart of Germany’s energy needs. The UK has 40% of Europe’s potential offshore wind energy, so there is huge scope for expansion. The Energy Secretary is a Lib Dem, Chris Huhne, who recently confronted his Conservative cabinet colleagues. There is a possibility he’ll push for more for his department in light of Merkel’s u-turn.

Here is the Guardian article: http://bit.ly/lb7lYk

The Telegraph has a prominent article about Jemima Khan being falsely named as a celebrity with a super injunction. She was wrongly accused of trying to gag the media because there were indecent pictures of her and Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson. The incident, with countless other names leaked on Twitter, has prompted further debate about the usefulness of the legal measure in the internet age. It is possible to restrict publications like newspapers but the internet, and Twitter in particular, has an extremely fast mind of its own.

http://bit.ly/ksFV7M

Meanwhile in the House of Commons MPs have been debating the government’s proposed NHS reforms. There has been widespread opposition from doctors, nurses and other health professionals. Labour have pounced on the ill feeling and Nick Clegg vowed not to let the Bill pass if people’s concerns weren’t met, as part of his drive for a “louder voice” for Lib Dems in government following their election mauling.

Much of the opposition centres on the privatisation part of the Bill. There is a fear that the Conservatives are trying to privatise the NHS by “the back door” which is exaggerated. But there are issues with creating any sort of market in health. Personally I think private, high quality hospitals do have a role to play. But I feel uneasy about any market and don’t see the need for it. The NHS should simply prioritise and drop some treatments that are not essential, leaving them entirely to the private sector. This would be controversial but would save huge amounts of money and improve the standard of care for everyone, if measures were made to protect the poor.

One Lib Dem has suggested the Bill be scrapped completely: http://ind.pn/m18c8I

Super injunctions: Why should I care if the dressing room is full of whores?


This week super injunctions have once again, ironically, been in the news, largely thanks to a confession from the BBC’s Andrew Marr. He believes the balance has strayed too far in favour of gagging the media, despite having his own super injunction to conceal an affair. He supports the call of many to put the rules back in front of MPs for debate. Why should such extreme privacy only be available to mega rich politicians, TV stars or footballers?

 They may be able to keep a lid on certain stories with their fat cheques but they can’t stop us discussing the issue itself. And it’s a difficult and ethically complex problem. On the one hand we can’t have censorship coming before free speech, but to live in a free society privacy is also important. Continually we are told that if a story is in the “public interest” it shouldn’t be hidden away under lock and key. But what does that actually mean? The hypothetical (but all too common) “footballer and a prostitute” scenario, is wheeled out by both sides of the argument again and again.

Those speaking up for the principle of super injunctions argue that what anyone does sexually is their own business, just as their health or bank details are. Footballers are private individuals that just happen to be prominently in the public eye. But the reason they are so closely studied by the media and their fans is not what they do off the field, but on it. Any personal problems they may have, whether it’s the fallout from shagging Imogen Thomas, an addiction to scratch cards or a fear of candyfloss, should be resolved in their own time and space without intrusion.

On the other hand of course the opponents will bellow in outrage that footballers are role models for our children and should behave as such. They may be talented but with such lucratively rewarding contracts they should act responsibly in return, and concentrate on delivering the best performance they can, week in week out in a professional manner, without the distraction of off the field turmoil. Season ticket holders, investors and fans in general may all feel justified in wanting to know whether their star striker is wasting his wages and fitness on whores after training sessions.

I have to say I have more sympathy with the pro-privacy side of the argument, when it comes to footballers and their whores at least. Of course with the ludicrous money they’re earning they should be focusing on giving our clubs’ the best they can offer on the pitch every weekend. But frankly I don’t care about their numerous and identical scandals. It’s an inevitability that young men, their wallets brimming with cash, end up disgracing themselves and living dangerously. If they can play brilliantly and indulge their dirty hobbies in private, then so be it. I don’t watch football to judge morality.

It’s only when the scandals are published that they become disgusting influences on our children, when the role models become corrupted and misery heaped on the club and the player’s personal life. And as for the “public interest” argument, there are minimal grounds for exposure for the genuine good of the population. The public’s interest in rumour and gossip is another matter altogether to their wellbeing and rights.

Ignore what I just said though. I may not be at all interested in hearing of their latest filthy fumbles, but for everyone to turn a blind eye would mean the disrespectful bastards get away with it time after time. Enough of them already escape the consequences by wielding their wealth for a super injunction or a quiet payoff for the mistress. Countless clowning cocks lucky enough to play football for a living probably simply get away with it because they’re not good enough, or famous enough, for anyone to care if they cheat on their wives and the mothers of their children.

There will undoubtedly be cases when it’s best and fairest if privacy is maintained. There will be others with a real and pressing “public interest”, far more vital than a lustful midfielder’s latest lay, that must see the scrutinizing light of publicity. The only sensible way to deal with the issue is on a case by case basis.

When it comes to football though, like it or not, there is a paparazzi culture for finding out the bedroom deeds of the Premiership’s so called “stars”. The players know this is a fact of life as much as we do. If they want their right to privacy preserved the only way forward is for them to start behaving gratefully and respectfully. They should appreciate what they have enough not to jeopardise it. There’s no need for super injunctions without scandal in the first place.

DVD Review: London Boulevard


The trailer for London Boulevard at the tail end of last year promised the best kind of British gangster flick; slick, stylish, smart, sexy and darkly funny. A disappointingly short run in cinemas and a lukewarm critical reception suggested that something didn’t quite click though, despite the stellar cast and seductive snippets of footage. Perhaps audiences anticipated more of the same; substitute Ray Winstone for Michael Gambon and Colin Farrell for Daniel Craig and you essentially get Layer Cake. But I was inclined to disagree with the tepid expectations because of interesting parallels between criminality and celebrity.

Farrell plays Mitchell, a cockney con straight out from serving three years for GBH. He explains he was merely involved in “an altercation” (he educated himself through hordes of books inside) and that he’s no thief. He’s trying to convince Keira Knightley’s paparazzi besieged actress to employ him as a bodyguard, after he uses his street smarts and hard as nails attitude to help a friend of hers avoid a nasty scuffle.  Mitchell eventually takes the job protecting the star from crude happy snappers, whilst simultaneously trying unsuccessfully to remove himself from friendships drawing him back into London’s underworld. Without even trying he rapidly builds a reputation for himself that Ray Winstone’s crime boss wishes to utilise.

I found the idea of a gangster tied to his life by the contracts of violent deeds and debts, compared and contrasted with a celebrity trapped by fame, an extremely interesting one. Neither can easily escape those aware of their existence and constantly keeping tabs on them. The relationship between Mitchell and his globally known actress had the potential to provide a refreshing lens through which to view a swaggering, traditional gangster story.

And at times the angle is slightly different. Some of the dialogue between Knightley and Farrell, particularly when they slip away to the countryside, is both full of black humour and believable observations about their determined destinies. But sadly most of the dialogue is ordinary and predictable and has indeed been seen countless times before. Farrell’s performance is neither fantastic nor a failure, merely passably cut off and charismatic, in keeping with the genre. He is suitably cool. Most disappointing is Knightley, who despite looking the part with a withered and thin appearance, never truly inhabits a role that must be close to the reality of her life on occasion. She ought to be capable of more than caricature with such personal experience to draw on.  

For me the main problem with London Boulevard was that it boiled down to an endless simmering. The stylish and often mildly funny build up was pleasing enough for a while, but only because it seemed to hint at the plot coming together and igniting at some point. It never really does. The climax on offer lacks intensity and urgency. With funny, vivid performances in supporting roles from David Thewlis, Ray Winstone, Ben Chaplin and Anna Friel, London Boulevard ultimately lets down an impressive cast of capable Brits. As well as the audience.

Kick Ass Assassins: Salt on Blu-Ray and The American on DVD


The world lacks a female super spy. Angelina Jolie has perhaps come closer than most to filling the void with her all action portrayal of sexy video game Tomb Raider Lara Croft, but this was ultimately more Indiana Jones than James Bond. Last year Phillip Noyce’s Cold War conspiracy thriller Salt, originally earmarked for Tom Cruise, morphed into a very different project altogether with the casting of Jolie as CIA agent Evelyn.

I may be veering into sexism here, but because of Jolie’s casting my expectations were drastically lowered. However I’ll defend myself with two qualifications; firstly I think of Jolie as more than merely an internationally coveted sexual icon, but as a fine and capable actress, particularly after her powerhouse performance in Clint Eastwood’s excellent Changeling. Secondly I believe I expected disappointment because of the film industry’s own sexist view of women playing action leads, rather than my own narrow and intolerant perspective on the “fairer sex”.

What I mean by this is that women rarely seem to be cast in serious mainstream action films. They’re a common feature in action comedies, such as the dire Knight and Day and Jolie’s own light-hearted romp with her equally famous and sexy spouse in Mr and Mrs Smith. But there’s no realistic and gripping female equivalent to the Bourne series, for example. Filmmakers are reluctant to showcase women, even today, as ruthless and professional killers without elements of fantasy. Watch a film about what is essentially a paid, female murderer (a “hitwoman”) and expect lots of ninja style, silly high kicking and unbelievable martial arts, alongside tight costumes, to offset such a horrific notion.

Sadly this is a formula that Salt eventually and perhaps inevitably, conforms to. The opening of the film is promising. Once we get some god awful dialogue out the way, probably ripped straight from the “how to script a film in the espionage genre” handbook, along with some forced flashbacks, we get Salt interrogating an apparent Russian defector. He drops the bombshell that there’s a sleeper agent in the CIA, and that agent is called Evelyn Salt.

Salt is dismissive at first, but all the high tech brain scans and probably some ingenious pad questioning his balls from his seat, says that he’s telling the truth. After a bit of dithering Salt decides to run, apparently out of concern for her husband, but it still seems rather daft if she really is innocent. Once she does run however, it looks as if Salt is going to be a decent film.

With the shadowy, backstabbing premise of the plot and some tense evasion of security cameras by a grey suited Jolie, Salt seems very Bourne-esque at first. And a female Bourne film would not have been such a bad thing. Boxed into an interrogation room, Salt constructs a makeshift weapon from chemicals and chairs and table legs to allow her to escape. She then flees for home to look for her husband and just avoids capture by climbing around the outside of her building. Finally she escapes the city after a standoff by jumping from truck to truck on the freeway.

During all of this action it’s easy to get swept up and the character remains believable. You sympathise with her apparent innocence and will her to succeed. But once Salt heads to New York based on information that someone will attempt to kill the Russian President at the Vice President’s funeral, the plot completely loses its way. It utterly surprised me on several occasions but purely because it becomes so absolutely ludicrous. You can no longer relate to Salt as a character and the action degenerates into ninja Jolie implausibly kicking the asses of trained security personnel in seconds.

At first I thought it was refreshing that Salt was a spy thriller based on the old Cold War rivalries and tensions. Cinemagoers could do with a little more entertainment courtesy of grand, evil schemes, rather than grim and realistic takes on Al-Qaeda. There’s nothing wrong with fantastical plots based on extravagant conspiracies and the destruction of the world, providing they’re executed plausibly. But Salt is just too farfetched and has too many holes, mainly surrounding the believability of its characters. It also strays into the absurd and hilarious; supposedly a “master of disguise” Salt looks fairly obviously like Angelina Jolie dressed as an effeminate man infiltrating the White House.

As usual with Blu-Rays, there’s a whole host of meaty special features to devour about the making of Salt. There’s a baffling section on Salt’s supposed genius as a “master of disguise” and a separate “in screen” interview with the costume designer explaining the selection process behind Jolie’s grey suit earlier in the film. Apparently it was really beneficial to visit the CIA and presumably discover they wear boring and generic corporate power suits like everyone else. The most revealing sections are interviews with Noyce and Jolie about the fact Salt was originally written for a man, which might account for some of the script’s rough and unfinished feel.

There are some pleasing references to classics of the genre in the film, for example when “defector” Orlov escapes using a blade concealed in his shoe, like Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love. But in the end Salt resembles a mishmash parody of everything it has taken influence from. It lacks originality, quality and entertainment for most of its thankfully brief 100 minute runtime.

THE AMERICAN is the sort of serious and sombre story that sadly wouldn’t get made with a woman in the title role. It’s a slow-burning meditation on the nature of being an assassin and on loneliness itself. It’s an exercise in minimalist storytelling from writer Rowan Joffe, adapting Martin Booth’s novel A Very Private Gentleman, and particularly, director Anton Corbijn. With the lightest of brush strokes he paints what was, for me, an incredibly evocative and captivating picture. 

I had meant to see The American on the big screen but sadly its lack of success at the box office resulted in a short stay at my local multiplex. For critics the problem with The American is that it never truly ignites following such a tantalisingly drawn out simmering of tension. Many find it boring to sit through. But for anyone that loves the genre, the intoxicating idea of the lone assassin, or anyone that likes understated and subtle films, The American is wonderfully watchable.

In many ways George Clooney shouldn’t work in the title role. He is such a recognisable face across the globe, a brand rather than a name, that he shouldn’t convince as an unknown and elusive assassin. But Corbijn needed someone who could act without words and Clooney delivers a master class. When there is dialogue Clooney enthuses it with charisma; it oozes enigmatic intrigue. When the camera is entirely reliant on Clooney’s movements a pained expression, a cold glance or a precise gesture speaks more than a page of script ever could.  This has been hailed by some as the best performance of Clooney’s career for a reason. We’ve never seen him laid bare like this; robbed of the charm and the cheeky grin.

More than anything else The American is beautiful. Its soundtrack is haunting, atmospheric and touching. Every other shot would make an arty still in a gallery; in Corbijn’s second picture after the acclaimed biopic Control, his background as a photographer is constantly evident. Clooney’s character chooses photography as his cover and there’s something about the parallels of precise skill and solitude between pictures and killing that’s endlessly fascinating. Indeed the subtlety of the storytelling really lets you think about its themes whilst enjoying the gorgeous visuals and the sexy girls.

The loneliness of existence is there in every furrow of Clooney’s focused face; the life of the assassin is the perfect lens for examining anyone’s existential angst. His character makes meagre relationships that wouldn’t satisfy many human beings, and yet they prove too much and too risky for his secretive profession. Despite the reports of boredom and never-ending build-up, I thought that the restrained action punctuated the plot well and the climax of the simple story was suitably engrossing.

In many ways Salt and The American both take “old school” approaches to a familiar genre; Salt with its outlandish Cold War plot and The American with its focus on an age old character, complete with soul searching scenes with a priest. The undoubted difference between the films though is a sumptuous and sexy style and quality that makes The American infinitely more interesting than Jolie’s briefly entertaining foray into the world of espionage.